Christmas, grief and the fireplace channel: How I'm learning to embrace new holiday traditions while paying tribute to my family
Grief isn’t a burden we carry alone. Though loss leaves a hollow spot in our days, it also leaves us with pieces of the ones we loved most. The wisdom they shared, the laughter they sparked, the kindness they modeled - these become gentle weights that remind us they mattered. In this post, we explore how holding onto the best parts of those we’ve lost can soften grief’s heaviness and help us carry on with love woven into our lives.
🤍 I saw this article before Christmas and really liked what it had to say. We all have Christmas traditions, but when a matriarch or patriarch passes, those traditions often change too.
For me, the word change feels too drastic in the first year, the second year, or even the third. Of course, it’s okay to make plans, but there’s no need to pressure yourself to make things “how they were.” Go with the flow instead. 🤍
Time collapses during the holidays. The memories of what I've lost, the hope for what could be and the reality of what is fold upon themselves, creating a gravitational pull that's impossible to escape. As a mother, I do my best to sift through the nostalgia, keeping pieces that will help me build memories for my son. But what remains adds weight to the grief I always carry, which feels heaviest on Christmas Eve.
Growing up, Christmas Eve was my favourite time of year. My family would gather at my Nani and Nonno's house for an all-day affair that culminated in an elaborate Fishmas dinner. It wasn't exactly the traditional Feast of the Seven Fishes, but it looked — and smelled — as though we had enough food to feed the neighbourhood.
After dinner, the kids would filter into the living room to watch It's a Wonderful Life — or our treasured fireplace channel. In the kitchen, there was an endless rotation of cast members in leather jackets who smelled like Brut cologne, bearing their equivalent of gold, frankincense and myrrh: Crown Royal, Amaretto and Sambuca.A permanent retreat
When my grandparents died, so did Christmas Eve traditions. Grief splintered the family tree, and it was an unspoken decision to no longer spend the holidays together. People retreat inwards in grief; sometimes to lick their wounds, or perhaps because they finally feel free to do so.
I expected the first Christmas Eve without my grandparents to be quiet. But if you're not careful, what begins as a reprieve can become a permanent change. In 2023, my dad died unexpectedly. The shape of my family shifted again, and a seat was added to a table on the other side that I'm unable to get to.
I'm grateful that my best friend welcomed me and eventually my growing family into her home for Christmas Eve. It gives me a dose of the big, loud Italian dinners that I miss so much and a chance to be with people I love, but it isn't the same — and that's been a hard part of the grieving — and growing up — process.
Take them with you, however you can
Traditions, I've learned, should be adaptable to the people you're celebrating with. I can't recreate the holidays of my childhood for my son, but I'm trying new things to see if we can create something special for our little family. We've met friends for the Santa Claus parade, and will be attending local Christmas markets and light displays.
But I'm also trying to incorporate traditions from my childhood, too. Although my son's still too small to bake sugar cookies as I used to each year, we're using the cookie cutters inherited from my Nani to make festive pancakes. Last year, my cousin and I attended a screening of It's a Wonderful Life at a beautiful, independent cinema. Several times throughout the movie, she reached over to squeeze my hand as we wiped away tears. We've decided to make it an annual tradition to get dressed up in festive attire and watch a movie that still holds so much meaning for us in a theatre filled with people eager to tap into nostalgia.
I've never agreed with the metaphor that grief comes in waves. That's true, but only for the observer. I grieve every day — and likely will be grieving for the rest of my life. We lose people, but we get to keep the best parts of them with us, making the heaviness of grief easier to carry.
On Christmas Eve, after my son gets to run around with his honorary cousins, I'll make sure that I take some time to sit by the tree alone. I'll say a little prayer to my family, tell them I miss them, and enjoy the quiet with my beloved fireplace channel crackling in the background.
via Elizabeth Di Filippo, Senior Lifestyle & Features Editor
